The Valley of the Damned
by JinxPadlock
Summary: In 1920 my world changed. What was once a tranquil life turned into one of violence and anger. I was forced into the deepest circle of hell and was then thrown out with eyes as red as blood and an unquenshable thirst, all because of Her. Maria. She was the leader of our army, and the reason I discovered what hatred was, but then, I also found Him, the reason I discovered love.
1. A Universal Truth

**Author's Note: **Hello everyone, it's been a long time since I last wrote fanfiction and Im feeling a little rusty. This is also my first Twilight fanfiction so I'm a little nervous about this. I have to tell everyone that this is going to be a slow and steady story where the characters have to go through some major upheavals and find out some harsh truths about themselves and their surroundings before they can fall in love.

This is AU, and I suppose it goes without saying, non-canon. It's also going to be **rated M **for violence and 'lemons' later on.

So, yeah, I'm not gonna beg for reviews, you'll do that whether you want to or not, but if you do could you please leave constructive criticism if you've negative comments as my confidence is at an all time low at the moment...

Other than that, Enjoy!

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**Chapter One, **

A Universal Truth

"_It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife." _

_ Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen _

**_Houston, Texas, 1920._**

**_Isabella Swan_**

_"Isabella, dear," _the shrill voice of my mother, Renee, sounded behind me, as I was about to step out of the back door, book and blanket in hand.

"Yes, Mama?" I asked exasperatedly as I turned to face the redheaded woman, knowing exactly what she was going to say. If it were not about some boy who had just come to town I would eat my book.

"Isabella, do not take that tone with me. You need to be home in time for dinner tonight, the Warrington's are coming and I want to introduce you to their son, John. He just bought the old Wilson farm down the road and is in need of a good woman to stand by his side and help him fix the place up."

"Mama, please?" I begged. "Just because he happens to be a wealthy bachelor does not mean that he needs to be married, and it certainly does not mean that he wishes to marry me."

"Don't be silly, Isabella. Any man would be smitten with you if you just took the time to do something with your bird nest hair and kept your opinions to yourself." As if to emphasise her point she began pulling pieces of my dark auburn hair straight against my face, only for them to spring back into the mess of curls they were before.

She sighed irritably before continuing with her speech; one I had heard a million times before and could probably recite better than she, herself.

"Not everyone needs to hear about your literary preferences or your musical tastes, and certainly not your interest in history. The past has passed, let us keep it that way," She admonished with tears in her eyes.

"Yes, Mama," I placated with a sigh, and placed a kiss on her cheek as I set off down the path toward my secret tree. I knew she would just continue on this diatribe if I didn't, and I really didn't want her to cry. She felt I was hopeless, and like all young girls I should focus on finding a good man to marry and have a plethora of children before I hit twenty-five. What I wanted was rarely acknowledged.

I'm only nineteen and want to live a little first. I want to be swept away into a torrent of adventure, a romance that brings Romeo and Juliet to shame. I want to be taken across the seven seas, a prisoner of a pirate ship, fight my way to the top of the world and become the most feared pirate, stealing the hearts of men across the world, only to have some swashbuckling rapscallion, who went by the name of 'the-man-in-black', steal _my_ heart when I least expect it. Together we would ride into the sunset, and claim the world as our play-ground, our love compounding us together until the ends of eternity. Of course the reality would be very different. If I ever made it passed the prisoner stage of my plan (which is very unlikely given the inclinations of men, and my stomach at sea), I would be hunted to the ends of the earth, and hung from a gallows hold with my feet and hands bound screaming my vengeance at the world.

I think I'll just stick to my books for now; they're the much safer alternative.

As I walked up to my secret grove I thought perilously about how I had ended up in Texas of all places in the world. We had lived in Chicago for most of my life, until my Daddy, Charlie, was killed in The Race Riots; he was a beat officer for the City of East St. Louis and was killed on duty during the course of the day. Nobody knows entirely what happened but they found his body, bloodied and mangled.

Up until that point I had wanted to sign up to the Police Force myself. Being a female officer I would be able to help women and children and make sure they were safe whilst imprisoned. I knew that Charlie would be proud, but as soon as the news of his death came, Renee became my priority. She was not the most mentally stable of people and was prone to severe bouts of depression. Charlie's death just made it worse, so we packed up our apartment, and with the small bit of money saved from his wage, Renee's inheritance, and the proceeds from the sale of the apartment, we managed to buy a small place in Texas, big enough for the two of us.

The new climate helped to improve Renee's spirits, even though she still became withdrawn occasionally. I believe it had a lot to do with the open space and the freedom that anonymity afforded us. We could be whoever we wanted to be here. We didn't have to be grieving wife and daughter; we didn't have to look perfect every time we stepped out of our house. Our hair could be out of place if we wanted and we didn't have to wear make-up or fancy clothes, we could just be Renee and Isabella Swan: Humans. That was the appeal for me, I'm sure the appeal to Renee was just escaping the memories of Charlie that haunted every corner of the city, and every place in the apartment. Either way she appeared to be on the mend, or, at least that was all that mattered.

Before I knew it I had reached the end of the path. A shaded copse of trees stood before me, the light from the midday sun shone iridescently in sparse patches, surrounding the area in a light green glow. Speckles of powder floated in the lines of light, like magical dust they gleamed proudly as they dithered and danced in the air. I couldn't help the serene smile that lit my face, nor could I help the contented smile as I continued into the miniature woodland.

I had discovered this area on our first day of being in Houston and had immediately fallen in love with it. In the middle of the coppice stood a single cedar tree that stretched skyward, its branches reached for the sun, whilst its blue berries camouflaged themselves against their heavenly backdrop. It was perfect. It offered a sense of seclusion and secrecy, yet it wasn't too far away from Renee that she panicked.

I placed my blanket on the floor and sat down between the roots of the tree and opened my book; _Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen. _It had been a favourite of mine since I could read and I had, at one point, modelled myself on Elizabeth Bennet. She was fiercely independent, would bow to no one and would let none belittle her. What more could anyone want to be? As I got older though, I realised that with independence and the burden of responsibilities came a crippling loneliness. Most days I busied myself with my work at the local grocery shop to forget it, but on others it would sneak up, grasp me by the heart and opened an aching black chasm that reeked of despair. I wouldn't succumb to it though, no matter how badly it hurt. I would carry on with my head up high and my shoulders square. I would find my Darcy, even if I had to travel to the ends of the earth and back, but I wouldn't submit to the loneliness and marry just anyone so that I could quell my heart's ache. When I did find my Darcy, I didn't want his protection, I wanted his support, and I wanted us to be equals.

It was a few hours later when I was pulled away from my book by the high-pitched screech of my mother shouting for me to come get ready. I groaned internally as I stood up and made my way back to the house. I had almost forgotten about tonight's meal, almost being the operative word of that sentence. I couldn't quite escape the gut wrenching terror of being put on display like the newest vogue toy, or paraded like a freshly shaved poodle.

"Isabella, dear, stop fidgeting." Renee commanded as I pulled on my dress once again.

When I made it back from my grove, Renee automatically grabbed hold of me and dragged me to my room. She had rummaged through my armoire until she pulled out the most ridiculous looking dress she could find and forced me to sit on a chair whilst she pranced around and fixed my hair and make-up, all the while commenting on how I should get my hair cut into the fashionable style, and how I should pluck my eyebrows into a more suitable shape. I had sputtered and told her there was nothing wrong with my hair, and my eyebrows were fine, I kept them neat, making sure there were no strays underneath the natural arch and that was it, no silly thin lines for me.

"They should be here in five minutes. Now, I want you to avoid the gravy tonight, and try not to cut yourself with your knife, I don't want to have to call on Doctor Brooks, again." She was persistent. I know she only meant well, but at times I couldn't help but feel like she was ashamed of me.

"Mama, please. I know what to do. Keep clean, blood free and above all else keep my opinions to myself."

"You know I only care for you, don't you?" She asked hesitantly, tears already filling her deep blue eyes, as she wrapped her hands around my waist and pulled me against her chest.

"Yes, Mama." I sighed as I placed my hands about her waist and hugged her back, pulling her as close as I could without ruining her hard work.

"I love you, Mama."

"And I, you, Isabella. Now come, I think I hear them coming." She pulled away quickly, as the sound of an engine roaring grew louder and louder.

Renee rushed to the mirror to check her appearance and fix a few things, unnecessarily. She had always being beautiful and her age and depression hadn't changed that, with sparkling blue eyes, and beautiful strawberry blonde hair, my mother could turn even the most obstinate of heads. I was the opposite of her in every way. Where she was willowy and thin, I was short and had small curves, where she was light, I was dark, with brown-almost-black eyes and hair that was more brunette than red. You could tell I was her daughter, but my mother was certainly the beauty in the family.

No sooner than Renee had fixed her appearance, a knock came at the door.

I believed you could tell a lot about a man by their knock. You had those that were loud, ostentatious bangs at the door that screamed of passion, but of a shot fuse, and a long, raging temper. Then you had the complete opposite, which was in fact what we were hearing now. A short, delicate rap at the door, which screamed snobbery, a dull sense of entitlement and lack of passion, it was perfect in its delivery, each rap equal in volume to the last, and rang out in a precise rhythm. I groaned inwardly as I heard it, it was the knock of someone with wealth and stature. The knock of someone who would be happier sitting in a billiards room with a cigar and a brandy than an old country farmhouse that housed two slightly crazed women.

I already disliked this John Warrington.

"Don't just stand there, girl. Go and answer the door." My mother urged me as she pushed me forward.

When I reached the door I looked back at Renee with a pleading face, begging her to not put me through this, but she simply shook her head and made a shooing gesture with her hands.

With a defeated sigh I turned to the door and opened it slowly. What I saw didn't surprise me, not in the slightest. John Warrington and his mother stood there looking disdainfully around at our small, but homely, house. They were beautiful examples of the human species. John was tall with dark hair that had been slicked to one side and piercing baby blues, he had a strong jaw and high cheekbones and wore a look of snobbery and an air of superiority like a mantle.

His mother was much the same, although she was more delicate in her features. She had a heart shaped face with a small upturned button nose and wide eyes. Her hair was coiffed into the latest fashion, with delicate waves stuck to her head. The sneer on their faces, whilst doing nothing to detract from their obvious beauty, increased when they saw my second-hand dress, and me with my mother hovering in the background like some moth trying to find a spark to burn herself with.

"Hello," I said trying to be civil even though I wanted nothing more than to punch them both in their faces and run in the opposite direction, "please, come in."

They both stepped past me as they handed me their coats to hang like I was some kind of usher.

"Welcome," my mother said with a wide smile as she held her hand out to John, who, in attempt at being a 'true gentleman', brought it his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it, causing Renee to giggle and blush like a preteen.

"Do come in, dinner should be ready in half an hour." She said as she ushered them through to the dining room.

An hour later and I was ready to bash my head against the table. John and Mrs Warrington were by far the dullest people I had ever had the displeasure of talking to. Mrs Warrington would constantly chatter about herself, drawing any conversation to revolve around her, and John! Well, John was about as interesting as two planks of wood nailed together, in fact I think the wood would have had more personality had it being alive. His main interest was in the oil that could be found in the south and his wishes to purchase some land so that he could begin drilling and distribution. I honestly didn't care, I don't think I'd have cared even if he was dressed in a purple and green suit with a jester's cap on, but at least he'd have been more remarkable that way.

I was drawn out of my thoughts by a voice in my right ear.

"So, Isabella, your mother says that you read quite a bit. What type of books do you read?" John asked with a quirk of his brow, seeming genuinely interested in something I had to stay.

"Um," not the most loquacious way to start anything but I was remembering my mothers not so subtle warning from earlier in the day, if I embarrassed her I would be stuck with latrine duty for the next three years, "just recently, I read Fyodor Dostoyevsky's, Crime and Punishment, and before that I was reading The Canterbury Tales, by Geoffrey Chaucer."

"I have read The Canterbury Tales. I have to say I found the language quite difficult, the vernacular and syntax were something I was not wholly prepared for, although the satirical irony and critical way he looked at life, in particular the church, struck a chord with me. I have never had the chance to read Crime and Punishment, what is it about?"

I'm sure my jaw dropped to the floor in shock. The dullard could talk, and well at that. I told myself not to get too excited as I formulated my reply. My approach to literature often incited arguments.

"Canterbury Tales isn't his best work in my opinion, it is regarded as his _magnum opus_, but I prefer Troilus and Criseyde. As for Crime and Punishment, it's about a man who commits a murder for money and how that morally affects him and his family. It is about how the one true punishment for crime is our own conscience and only until we confess and pay the debt to ourselves can we truly move on. Well, that's what I take from it anyway, and that is a really simplified version."

"Interesting, do you believe it?" He asked me quizzically.

"Hmm?" I reply, not entirely sure about what he wanted an answer to.

"Do you believe that drivel you just spun?"

_There goes the almost-good opinion. _I thought ruefully as my face took on a shocked expression. Ignoring my mother's earlier warning, I replied with as much vehemence as I could muster.

"Yes, of course I do. I believe one must forgive oneself to truly be forgiven, and if I believe that, then I also believe that ones punishment must come from oneself as a path to earning that forgiveness. What do you believe, Mr Warrington?"

"I believe that no matter the reason, murder is a crime punishable by death and not deserving of forgiveness, society's or otherwise. I also believe that the world would be a much better place if literature like that was less readily available, especially to young, impressionable people such as you."

_Who does he think he is? He can't be more than five years older than me. _Enraged at being condescended to and practically told that I can't make decisions due to my age, I stood up quickly from the table, knocking my chair over in the process.

"Mr Warrington, I assure you, that whilst I may be young, I am far from impressionable and am perfectly capable of making my own decisions."

"Isabella Marie Swan!" My mother screeched whilst Mr Warrington spoke to me in a calm and collected voice; "Please, sit back down; we were having a friendly discussion."

"There was nothing friendly about your condescension, Mr Warrington." I replied as I pulled my chair up from the ground and sat down with a huff.

I knew I was acting immature, but I really couldn't help myself. I'd always been head strong. Charlie had always taught me to stand up for what I believed in and to never compromise myself or my beliefs. It was a shame I'd never been taught when to hold my peace.

"Now that you've stopped acting like a child, perhaps we can continue in a civilised manner?" Mr Warrington addressed me.

"A child?! A Child. It wasn't me that disregarded your opinion as if it meant nothing. It isn't me who has worn the mantle of entitlement all night, and a veneer of pride. You walked into this house with a look of disdain upon your face, casting judgement upon my mother and me before you had taken the chance to get to know us. I sat here tonight for my mother, but I have been placed in the company of insufferable fools and can tolerate no more. I'm sorry, but if you were trying to find a wife here tonight, you won't. Now, I'm going for a walk, please excuse me."

"Isabella Marie Swan, come back this instance. Apologise to Mr Warrington and his mother." Renee shrilled behind me.

I turned around and gave her a menacing, yet apologetic glare, "I will do no such thing."

As I walked out of the back door to my secret place I could hear my mother cajoling Mr Warrington with a sob story and a shamed tone.

_"Isabella has always been a headstrong girl, Mr Warrington. My late husband often wished that she wasn't so opinionated, as do I. I'm so very sorry for the way she behaved. I do hope she didn't offend you."_

_"No, quite the opposite. I enjoyed myself here tonight, and would like to visit again. Whilst I find her behaviour and manners somewhat lacking, I look forward to helping curb such behaviour. With no male role model in her life I'm sure…" _

I felt a growl of frustration grow in my chest at his reply and ran off into my miniature forest, away into the solitude of the growing darkness.


	2. A Silent Dismissal

Author's Note: I would like to apologise to anyone reading this after waiting for so long for an update. I would like to tell you the reasons for the prolonged departure from fanfiction but I'm afraid that if I did this entire chapter would end up reading something like a journal entry and whilst it may be good for me to get this whole weight I'm carrying off of my chest, I'm afraid you wouldn't want to read it. So all I'm going to say is that I'm so sorry, and that I have genuine and valid reasons as to why it took so long to update, and will possibly take to get the next one up.

I would also like to thank all those that reviewed last time I updated, I'm sorry that I didn't reply.

Don't own, please don't sue. I write for fun and not profit.

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**Chapter Two **

**A Silent Dismissal **

"_Turn back the universe and give me yesterday_

_Unclasp the hands of time that held life's golden ray._

_Take back that bitter hour when our love passed away,_

_Turn back the universe and give me yesterday."_

_ Turn back the universe and give me yesterday, Orpheus Quartet_

I made my way back to the house shortly after nightfall. I was feeling rather ashamed of my outburst, knowing that I had embarrassed my mother. I didn't care much for my reputation, but Renée, as she liked to remind me, only had her reputation. I couldn't help but feel slightly bitter when she said things like that, it made me feel unworthy and that perhaps if she could choose between me and my dad, she would have chosen him. If I could give her my dad back, I would, in a heartbeat.

The white farmhouse came before me, it's peeling paint and cracked wood facia gleamed in the moonlight. Only one room was lit with the dim glow of a candle. A silhouette, black and hollow, stood in the light. She had waited up for me, as I knew she would. A flutter of nerves appeared in my stomach as I pictured her crying and anger as she raged in a shrill voice about how ungrateful I was and how difficult it had been since my Dad died.

Swallowing the ball of bile that had worked its way up my throat, I made my way toward the house and towards my punishment.

Whatever I had expected when I crept through the back door was not the sight I was met with. I expected her to be livid, her hair in disarray as if she had been pulling at it for hours. I expected hoarse words and fervent anger, but what I got was very different.

I was met with unnatural silence, broken only by the occasional sob and the ruffle of material as she raised her arm and pointed to my bedroom. Her face was streaked and blotchy where tears had cut rivers down her cheeks; the skin around her eyes was puffy and swollen, her eyes themselves were shot with blood, the red making the cerulean blue seem both brighter and diminished at the same time. I opened my mouth to talk, to apologise, but I was cut off by a sharp whisper.

"Don't, just don't."

She turned on her heel and walked down the hall to her room, silently shutting the door behind her, taking the candle and its warm light with her. The darkness in which she left me hung about me like a cloak, a perfect reflection of my inner turmoil. It hurt. I had never been on the end of Renée's silent treatment, she normally forgave me anything, but this time I wasn't so sure. I had been given numerous chances to show that I was willing to try, to show that I was willing to do what it took to keep her happy and safe, but I hadn't proven it, not once.

I followed Renée's lead and went to my room, closing myself in for the night, the air was cold against my skin, and the duvet; not much warmer, but it is not the cold that keeps me awake, it is my guilt.

I toss and turn all night. Every time I closed my eyes the image of Renée standing so desolate and broken would be there to greet me. Her pain gnawed at my subconscious, it ate away at my bones until the guilt fused and became one with my marrow.

With the light of dawn I rose out of bed, giving up on the unattainable quest for sleep. I'm sure that if I stopped to look it would appear as if I were an animated corpse, I could practically feel the dark shadows scratching at my face. My eyes were dry as were my lips, I felt irritable and itchy all over.

I scrambled to my dresser and dragged my plain blue work dress out and made myself ready for the day. I worked at the local grocery shop for an elderly man named Mr Richards; he was a sweet, temperate old man, with kind blue eyes, wild grey hair and a penchant for pinching my bum, but he meant no harm by it. He had been happily married for fifty-three years before his wife passed away in her sleep. Every day he would talk of Josephine, telling raucous stories of how they met and the adventures they went on together. It was heart-warming to see and made me want it for myself even more.

When I was ready and had finished my morning ablutions, I made for the kitchen to prepare a breakfast of biscuits and gravy as a way to apologise to my mother, but was stopped by the sound of laughter coming from the garden. Renee was never up at this time, claiming it to be a time for birds and worms, so it was unusual that she should be in the garden let alone laughing, even more unusual was the sound of a deep voice, the deep voice that had offended me so last night. Mr Warrington.

I stopped in the kitchen to peer through the window at the atrocity that was being displayed in front of me. My mother had her arm looped through Mr Warrington's whilst they were strolling through the garden; she was smiling and giggling like a school girl at everything he was saying, placing her hand upon his chest in a provocative manner.

Every bitter feeling I had ever had, chose that moment to band together and course through my veins leaving me in a fiery, confused state of rage, betrayal, hatred, depression and sorrow. I felt angry that my mother would flirt so openly when the memory of my father was still so raw and open, betrayal that she would disregard my feelings and before speaking to me of last night's events invite the man that had invoked my ire to spend the morning with her.

Betrayal was the overriding emotion, but depression closely followed, brought on by the knowledge that nothing had made my mother smile and laugh so freely since Charlie's death, and my dislike for the man was only going to drive a wedge between us, a dislike that was compounded by his inappropriate behaviour towards a widow, especially when he was invited so that I could be paraded in front of the peacock to judge his feathers and I had judged him of poor character.

I turned on my heel and fled the scene, but not before leaving a note for my mother and grabbing an apple to eat on my way to work.

I was looking forward to work, it was a Monday which meant that the delivery had arrived and there was plenty of work to do to distract my wondering mind. Stock to be stored, inventory to be taken, hampers to be made and delivered, customers to be served, I hoped that in typical Monday fashion that I wouldn't have a moment to myself. I arrived an hour early and could tell that it was going to be busy.

Mr Richards was struggling under the weight of a carton of oranges shipped in from Spain so I rushed over to help him with the weighty load.

"Isabella, just in time," Mr Richards said as I grabbed one side of the carton, "thought I was gonna break my back, carryin' this damned thing in."

Mr Richards had a deep Texan accent that showed his 'born n' bred' status, he was a Texan through and through and he loved it. He had seen a lot of the world, but had always come back to Texas, stating that "home is where the heart is at". It took me a few weeks to understand what he was saying and vice-versa but once we got passed the dialect barriers and colloquialisms we chatted like really old friends, well, argued is more like it.

"So, who stuck the burr under your saddle?" He asked as he brought me to the stock room and poured out some clean water for us both. We sat down on up turned crates and took our last and only break for the day, "Your mama giving you trouble about boys again?"

"Something like that, she had a Mr Warrington and his mother over for tea last night."

"Ah, our new rich townsfolk, what're they like?"

"They're… okay," I said, not really wanting to give a bad impression of them to someone who'd never met them before.

"So, you mean snobbish, rude, an' righteous?" He had a mischievous glint in his eyes as he looked at me, clearly assessing my expression and posture, "what'd the boy say to you?"

"Am I that obvious?" I asked with sass, to which I got a nod and a smirk in reply.

I sighed in frustration and rolled my eyes, "he accused me of being young and impressionable, saying that basically I have no right to make my own decisions."

"Well, I hate to break it to ya honey, but y'all are young, and this here is a man's world. People like you, you gotta fight for what you want, and you gotta expect a tellin' off once in a while, 'cos not everyone's gonna wanna listen to a young lady, 'specially one as opinionated as you. Not every man can be as amazin' as I am."

"Yeah, yeah, you're a dirty old man with a penchant for pinching my arse."

"You love it, now, quit your yapping and get to sortin' the hampers out. Mrs Winters needs extra eggs, flour an' sugar. Her youngest is turnin' seventeen in two days."

"Oh great, someone else for my ma to set me up with. Yippee!" Sarcasm dripped from my voice like wax from a candle.

"I won't tell if you don't, but I will if you don't get to work."

"Grouchy old man," I uttered under my breath as I stood up and brushed myself off. As usual he heard me.

"I may be a grouch old man, but you ain't gonna find no one better than me." He may be an arrogant old man and a pervert to boot, but he was right. No one would understand me as well as he does, and no one would ever let me be me, they would try to mould and shape me in their own image, playing God with flesh and bone rather than clay.

"If only you were sixty years younger" I jest.

"Ay, I would've loved to have seen you an' Josephine fightin' over me." He retorted with a twinkle in his eye.

"Dirty old man," I muttered again, not really wanting to know where his thoughts had gone.

"An' don't you forget it, now to work."

And just like that, I felt a million times better.

The day was a busy one, like I expected. After we put the delivery away and took inventory we had hampers to make and deliver. Seeing as Mr Richards had a motor vehicle he would be the one to do the deliveries and I was left to hold the fort. I spent the afternoon running around like a headless chicken, weighing flour, counting eggs, pouring milk, weighing tobacco and coffee. The lists seemed endless and the amount of people in the shop seemed to triple by the time three o'clock arrived, which was when Mr Richards came back.

"Well, let's see if we can get ridda these folk by four o'clock. I don't know about you but I feel like I've been rode hard an' put up wet." He said, I sometimes swore he put idioms into his speech so that I looked like a fool when I stumbled over a correct reply.

"It means I'm tired, sugar."

"Oh, yeah, I'm exhausted. Mrs Arlington is demanding to see you though, something to do with a ham being ordered from in town?"

"I'll see to it," he said as he patted my bottom and gave me a smirk as I scowled at him.

The next hour went by fairly quickly, and by the time four fifteen arrived the last customer had been rushed out of the shop and the door slammed in their face where the open sign quickly turned to a closed sign.

"Right, I'm going when I've finished the cleaning," I told Mr Richards as I went in hunt for the sweeping brush.

"I don't think so, young lady. You got a mama at home that you need to go talk to, so off you get." He ushered me out of the door before squeezing my bum one more time.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Isabella."

"Have a good evening, Mr Richards."

I turned and walked towards home. The swarm of wasps that had gathered in my stomach last night, that had, up until this moment, remained forgotten about, started flying in aggressive and nauseating patterns. I dreaded talking to Renee, but knew that this situation wouldn't be sorted out until we did. I wanted to tell her all my hopes and dreams, tell her that my biggest aspiration in life was not to be married to the first person that earned over a thousand dollars a year. I wanted to tell her that I was happy the way I was, but I knew I wouldn't. She would get angry, lay a guilt trip down saying that it was too hard for her to look after me on her own. I just wanted to be left alone, me and Renee against the world. I didn't want her to move on from my dad, because to me that made the love between them seem superfluous and shallow, I didn't want my romantic notions thrown in my face, nor did I want someone to try and replace my father, because they couldn't.

I was confused though, because although I didn't want the memory of my father to be denounced I also didn't want my mom to be alone for the rest of her life. It seemed that I was going through an unending cycle of thoughts, always coming back to the same conclusion, no matter how I looked at a situation. If I didn't want my mother to be alone I would either a) have to marry myself so that she would have a new family to drown herself in, or b) I would have to put aside my philosophies and contend with the idea of Renee marrying someone else, but what was it that Hamlet said? _The funeral baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. _It was too soon for Renee to move on, or maybe it was too soon for me to accept the idea that Renee had moved on.

I honestly didn't know whether to be angry or jealous of the attention that my mother had received from Mr Warrington this morning. He was brought before me and because I rejected him he swooped down and grabbed my mother in his clutches. I can't say why I hate him so, it wasn't just because he patronised me, I had already decided before meeting him that I was going to despise him. Perhaps I had modelled myself too thoroughly on a certain Miss Bennett and was letting my pride and prejudice get the better of me?

None of that mattered anyway, because before I came to any conclusion I was standing in front of the house with the feelings of trepidation and nervousness tripling in size and twisting my innards more painfully than ever before. I took a deep and trembling breath and stumbled my way to the front door, I reached it in one piece, surprisingly, which is more I can say for my pantyhose. They had snagged on a bush that Renee had decided was too attractive to destroy, and had thusly let overgrow.

Renee was already in her room, the soft glow of the candlelight framing her door way. I softly strode over to her door and gently knocked should she be asleep.

"Mom," I half whispered, half spoke, "Mom, I'm home."

There was no reply, but I heard the shuffling of papers and the shutting of drawers, so I knew she was in, but she was ignoring me. If I was honest it was better behaviour than I expected from her as she had the tendency to be overly-dramatic, but it still stung.

I turned away from her door with a heavy feeling in my heart. For some unknown reason, I had a feeling that this bridge between us wasn't going to be breeched for some time, if at all.

The next day seemed to be a repeat of the prior, as did the next, and the day after that and the one after that until a whole two weeks had passed and I was at the end of my tether. I was determined to confront Renee about her behaviour these past two weeks and tell her that I was, quite literally, sick of it. I hadn't slept properly for two weeks, I had lost so much weight that Mr Richards had stopped playfully patting my bum, saying it was "like touching a bag-o-bones". I had a constant headache and the bruising around my eyes began to feel like real bruising rather than just look it.

Suffice it to say, I had had enough, so when I finished work that evening, after making a promise to Mr Richards to eat more, I stepped into a resolute mind frame, determined to sort this out once and for all.

To say the evening didn't go as planned would be an understatement.

When I opened the door it was to gloomy, unnatural silence, dark shadows threw themselves into corners to escape the light which cast an eerie glow over the entryway. The light didn't quite reach the end of the hall so the rooms within were obscured in the shade. It was silent. Not even the gentle whisper of a breeze could be heard. There was no rustling of material as Renee moved around; there were no quiet inhalations of air, there was nothing, except my heartbeat escalating as if daring to break the silent spell cast over the house.

I would have thought I was being paranoid had it not been for the sweetly metallic tang of blood in the air, a coopery smell that reached straight into my stomach and threatened to tip the contents out. I felt sick with dread, worrying and wondering as to what I would find should I take one step into the house.

Plucking up the courage from a place I didn't know I had, I stepped forward slowly, making sure to leave the door open behind me should I need to escape quickly. I made my way down the hall, tiptoeing gently as I went. The first room that I came to was the sitting area and after making a quick inspection I discovered nothing was amiss. The next was the dining room, and nothing I had seen, nothing I had done could have ever prepared me for the horrific sight that I was met with.

There, in front of my very eyes, on the very table that Renee and I ate our meals, laughed, cried and argued was my mother's lifeless body spread in the shape of a cross. There was gaping hole in her neck where flesh and skin once sat. Her lifeless eyes, once a twinkling blue, were rolled into the back of her head, the whites showing. Her face was contorted into a vision of fright and pain.

I fell to the floor in horror. Short bursts of air forcing their way into my lungs as I began to hyperventilate, tears blurred my vision and my throat clogged up so that I couldn't talk. The only noise that sounded out of my mouth was a wail of pain and terror so excruciating that I didn't think I'd ever be able to make a sound quite like it again. The only thought I had before a comfortable and numbing blackness took me as a willing captive was that it was strange that there was no blood.


End file.
